To A Fault
by Gandalf3213
Summary: And Harry thought, when Ron finally passed out on his shoulder, that Ron might do this again. He might stand up to one of Harry's enemies, loyal to the end, and he might be hurt worse than bruises and cuts. He might be tortured. He might be killed. Chapter 3: Umbridge has it out for Ron, and has that Approval for Whipping that she never got to use...
1. Seamus

_**Ron, however, spoke to Black. "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" he said fiercely. **_**-Prisoner of Azkaban**

**.***.**

Ron snuck into the room, whispering _lumos_ so he wouldn't have to turn on the overhead lamps. Harry would have gone to bed ages ago, and should be tired after Quidditch practice. They'd been training hard. Ron was surprised by how much he liked Quidditch—or not surprised, exactly, at how much he liked the sport. More amazed that something could actually make him feel cool, make him popular as something other than Harry's sidekick. They hadn't played a game yet, and he wasn't brilliant, but people still knew he made the team. Lavender Brown was giggling a lot more around him.

But the important part about Quidditch today was that the practice had been brutal. Angelina was a hard taskmaster and had insisted on trooping out to the field even though Katie Bell was sick with the flu and in the hospital wing for the next few days. Harry had filled in as Chaser, a position he wasn't half bad at (sometimes, Ron thought, meanly, that Harry was at least half-good at _everything_.) Fred and George, though, had thought Harry flying around with the girls and the huge red ball was a right good laugh, and chucked Bludgers at his head so often that that practice was pulled up short when one actually made its target.

"I'm fine, Ron," Harry had muttered, grinning a little when Ron snapped at the twins. They were all on the ground. Ron had bundled Harry into his lap and had one hand slapped against the dark-haired boy's head. Blood was leaking through anyway.

George was contrite, at least, "Sorry Harry. You were avoiding them so well."

"I think two at once is my limit," Harry said, and he smiled like there was nothing wrong even though he was in pain, and Ron wanted to scream. Harry would grin right on through anything, poor bloke.

Fred stood by, hands over his chest, and only apologized when George elbowed him in the ribs. He was looking at Ron, "We'll just leave you two lovebirds alone then, huh?" Fred said, nodding his head at Ron's arms, still circled around Harry's torso.

"Belt up, would you?" Ron said, still not letting go of his friend. "Angelina, love, would you get out your wand, please?" Ron asked the captain, and she reached into her robes and had a bandage wrapped around Harry's head in a trice.

"I'm really fine, Ron," Harry said, "I can get up now. We still have twenty minutes of practice left."

"No we don't," Angelina sighed, "I'm calling it early. I need to bring Katie her homework, anyway. You're a decent Chaser though, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said, and though he sounded pleased he also sounded really tired.

Angelina and Alicia headed back to the locker rooms, and the twins wrestled the Bludgers into the case. Ron stood, extending a hand to Harry. "You're going to have a pretty brilliant bruise tomorrow, mate."

Harry nodded, taking off his glasses and squinting at them. "Oh for Merlin's—they're all bent again." He tried to twist the glasses back into shape and the frames wouldn't budge. "I'll have to get 'Mione to fix 'em tonight—and get another lecture about the dangers of Quidditch."

"Give them here, Harry," Fred said, pinching the glasses from Harry's hand and mending them with a flick of his wand. "There you go. And really, mate, we're sorry about the Bludger thing."

"Usually we aim them all at Ron," George added.

"But with you as Chaser—"

"We just couldn't resist," George clapped Harry on the back. "Maybe get Madam Pomfrey to look at that, though? Wouldn't want you out of commission for the match."

Harry shook his head, "I'll be fine. I think I'll just take another loop around the pitch. Clear my head."

"All right. 'Night, Ronnikins."

Ron sent them a rude hand gesture, which the twins laughed at, turning in unison to go back to the locker rooms, holding the case of balls between them. "I'm not letting you back on your broom, Harry," Ron said, still looking after his brothers. "You really should go to the hospital wing."

"I just need a minute," Harry said, and though his voice a second ago had been even and calm, now it sounded strangled, "Wanted them to leave. Didn't need them to see me fall over like a girl." And he was wobbling, listing to one side. Ron surged forward and put an arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Merlin, you're heavy," Ron groaned, lowering Harry back to the ground. "Maybe Fred and George should've stayed. They're midgets, but they'd a lot stronger than me."

For some reason, Harry's face flushed and he started picking at the grass, inspecting each blade as if it were something very interesting. Ron watched him, staring at the white bandage that was already turning pink with blood. "Your brothers are great, Ron," Harry finally said, "I wouldn't want to bother them."

And then it clicked, and Ron started shaking his head. Of course, Harry had always tolerated the twins and even Percy more than Ron ever could, perhaps because he'd never known the sort of rough affection the twins showed Ron, or even the aloof tenderness that sometimes came from Percy. "Believe me, Fred and George like you more than me," Ron said, "They gave you the Map, didn't they?"

Harry grinned, "I'll be moving into your house next, Ron, I swear it."

"Mom would never stop feeding you," Ron said, "But it'd be better than Surrey, eh? Probably better than dirty old Grimwald Place, too."

"It's not that dirty," Harry said, loyal to Sirius to the end. And Ron liked old Snuffles, too, but he thought the Black family home was one of the most depressing buildings he'd ever walked in to.

Ron stood again. "Can you grab your broom?" he asked Harry, "And I'll grab you."

"I can walk."

"No you can't. It's fine. I don't mind." He waited for Harry to reach for his Firebolt before grabbing him by the shoulder and hauling him vertical again. "You think Umbridge will let you play in the game?" Ron didn't know where the question came from, it had just popped out.

Harry's expression turned mulish, the same look he'd worn since their first DADA class of the semester, "I don't care what she does. She can't take Quidditch from me." He wobbled, and Ron sighed, moving his hand lower, around Harry's waist. What would the twins say now? But it the only way to keep him upright.

They struggled a few steps like that, and Ron had to laugh. They must look like an absurd pair. "Wish Hagrid was here," Ron said, fervently, "we could stop by his place. He could probably even carry you up to the castle."

"Wonder where he is," Harry said again, but he didn't say anything after that, and his voice was quiet. Conversation seemed to be hard for him. Ron knew how it was after a hit on the head. Sometimes you just wanted quiet.

So they were quiet. Heading back to the castle rather than too the locker rooms—too far, and they were making slow progress as it was—Ron only said once, jokingly, that they should just fly up to the Gryffindor common room.

"I'd fall off," Harry said.

"I wouldn't let you," Ron said, the answer so automatic that Harry turned to him, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

They were at the top of the castle steps when everything happened. And it was such a small thing on the surface. Dean and Seamus reached the great doors at the same time Harry and Ron did. And the two pairs stared at each other.

"What are you guys doing here?" Ron asked, his voice rougher than it needed to be.

"We were out for a walk," Dean said, his voice low, placating. Dean never wanted trouble. On the rare occasions when the five who shared the tower bedroom fought—stupid roommate fights, usually between Seamus and Harry, or Seamus and Ron—it was Dean who stepped in, with a joke or a quick word, and would haul his best friend back from the brink of a fist fight.

"A walk," Harry repeated, dully. Ron was starting to think he had a concussion. He was going to kill the twins.

Seamus for once didn't rise to any bait. Maybe he was starting to come around, though as far as Ron knew he and Harry hadn't spoken since the first night of the semester. "I was going up to the library, doing that stupid essay for Snape. You were working on it too, right Ron?"

"Yeah." And it was due tomorrow, and if he went back to the common room and got Hermione to look at Harry and took a nice long shower there was no way he was going to end up in the library, which would be another failing grade in Potions. He was going to fail his OWLs, he just knew it.

Harry pulled away from him. Ron had forgotten he still had an arm around his mate's waist. He took it away, quickly, and Harry managed to stand mostly upright, just leaning on him a little. "I already finished mine," Harry said.

"Come on the library then, Ron," Seamus said, "It'll go faster with two."

If he went back to the common room, Hermione would never let him look at her essay. And the few times he'd worked with Seamus before he'd been easy-going and a quick researcher, finding just the right phrases to make the essay sound half decent.

"I need to take Harry back," Ron said, "Took a bludger to the head at practice earlier."

"Really?" Dean said, reaching a gentle hand to probe at Harry's bandages. "I could look at that, Harry. My step-father's a doctor, you know. Muggle doctor, but he taught me some stuff."

"Brilliant," Seamus said, "So you'll take Harry back up the Tower and Ron and I will meet you there in an hour or two."

Harry flashed Ron a wounded look. If he were feeling better, he and Seamus would be shouting in the Entrance Hall by now. And though Ron was on Harry's side about the whole thing—believed him 100%, of course Voldemort's back, the whole thing—he needed to get his homework done and Seamus wasn't a bad fellow, just a bit thick and a bit too willing to listen to mummy.

"You don't mind, Dean?" Ron asked the black boy.

Dean shook his head, "Me and Hermione will get him sorted out, don't worry about it." He shot Seamus a long look though, a look Ron often gave to Harry when they were walking by Draco in the corridors, one that meant _play nice_.

So they parted ways in the entrance hall, Dean with both brooms and Harry under his arm. Harry didn't say another word to Ron, and Ron allowed himself to be steered up the staircase with Seamus.

He should have known better.

.***.

Harry wasn't asleep. He'd been out of it since the bludger, but after Dean and Hermione had seen to him and cast a few discreet charms he'd felt well enough to be mad. How could Ron have left with Seamus? Never mind the stupid part of his brain, the part that had felt abandoned when Ron walked away from him—what about the fact that it was _Seamus_? Seamus, who had taken the word of a newspaper over his own, who had called him a liar, an attention-seeker, crazy.

Maybe Ron thought he was crazy too. Maybe he was right.

When Ron slipped into the room (late, in the early hours of the morning) Harry had been stewing in his thoughts, mulling over the fact that Ron didn't want to be friends anymore. And why not? There was Umbridge and her stupid band of minions, there was Seamus and Dean, not on speaking terms with them anymore, there was Percy, his own brother, urging him to stay away.

He was going to confront Ron about it. When he heard Ron grasping for his curtains, he was going to demand an explanation. But he found that he couldn't. What if it was all true? The time without Ron during the Triwizard had been one of the worst months at Hogwarts. He couldn't stand the thought of not being friends anymore.

_Good riddance to him, anyway_. Harry thought_, If he wants to believe them over me…I know what I saw. I'll be ready. I tried to warn them_.

At the first muffled moan, Harry resolutely stayed still. So what if Ron was a little sore from practice? He shouldn't be paling around with Seamus Finnigan.

With the second moan, Harry lifted his head up. And then there was that little gasp, cut off so quickly it was obvious that it was never supposed to be audible at all. And that's when he reached through his curtains towards Ron's bed, in the back where they were always open. "Ron?" He pushed the fabric out of the way. "Merlin, it's dark. Ron?"

"I'm fine," Ron said, and he did sound fine. "How's your head, Harry?"

"I've got a tough head," Harry said, moving over to the red-head's bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ron sounded almost panicked now, "Go to bed."

"_Lumos_, Harry said. And then he scrambled to his feet. "What the hell happened?!"

He barely managed to keep his voice down. Ron's face was black and blue, and though he pulled down the sleeves of his pajamas Harry could see that his arms were bruised, too. There was a cut on his lip and another above his eye, both swelling, and there was a sluggish trickle of blood escaping from one ear. "Oh Ron," he sat back down. His hands were shaking. "Who did this to you?" He was shaking all over. He'd never felt like this—angry, and filled with so much instinctive protectiveness.

"It doesn't matter," Ron said, still tugging at his shirt, "I got a couple of swings in, too."

Harry stared at the cut that was swelling one of Ron's eyes shut. "Was it Seamus?" It was the only thing he could think of. He'd seen Ron three hours ago, perfectly fine. He goes off with Seamus…

Ron looked down at his hands. "It wasn't him. Mostly. There were others."

"Where?" Harry said. He was standing up again. "Where are they?"

"They're not there anymore," Ron grabbed his wince, wincing as the motion disturbed one of his cuts. "Keep your voice down."

Harry shrugged off the hand, still staring at all the damage that had been laid over Ron's skin. "What happened?"

Ron wouldn't meet his eyes, for reasons other than one of them was well and truly swollen shut now. "If I tell you, you can't go after them. I mean it, Harry. And you'll keep your voice down. It won't do any good waking Neville. Or Dean."

Harry lowered himself onto the bed, and Ron tried very hard not wince as his weight shifted the mattress. "Sorry, sorry," Harry said, trying to keep his voice soothing, "Do you need the hospital wing?"

"I don't think anything's broken," Ron said, "Maybe my ribs. And I hurt my hand punching someone's face. Couldn't see whose."

Harry picked up Ron's hand from the bedspread. The knuckles were split open and had swelled to twice their normal size. He rubbed it absent-mindedly, "Could do with some Murtlap. Hermione can make you some."

Ron nodded, and didn't protest when Harry lifted up his sleeves, looking at the yellow and green bruises. He didn't even protest when Harry hiked up the shirt, peering at the redness around his ribs, making a hissing sound in sympathy. It felt good to have someone caring.

Finally, Harry moved so that he was behind Ron, and he looked at Ron's back, which had been clawed at but not really hurt. He lowered Ron against him and rubbed soothing circles on Ron's belly. Both of their legs dangled off the bed. When did they get tall?

"Seamus really did want to work on the Potions essay, but he started in on you as soon as we got into the library. 'How's Harry get that concussion? Another spat with Voldemort?' That sort of thing. And I'm not exactly famous for controlling my temper. I told him to quit it or we'd have to talk outside the library. He picked the second one."

Harry didn't think this night could have made him feel any worse, but somehow _that_ did. Ron had gotten hurt over him? Defending him? "You didn't have to do that."

"Seamus didn't have to be born an asshole. Some things can't be helped, Harry. Anyway, some people near us in the library heard. Four or five Sytherins, and two big Hufflepuffs who I didn't recognize until they were beating the crap out of me. They were on the Quidditch team last year. Must be Diggory's friends."

Harry was shaking again, shaking all over. He could picture those boys, the Hufflepuff Beaters, and they were seventh years now, three hundred pounds each. "Did Seamus throw the first punch."

"No. I did. I think Seamus tried to stop it, too. He pulled a couple of them off me. But he took off before it all ended."

Harry squeezed Ron tighter, and Ron groaned. Harry moved away from him like a shot, until they weren't touching at all. He'd already hurt Ron enough for the night. "How did it end?"

"Snape," Ron said, laughing without humor, "He was walking by. Got rid of the Slytherins just by showing up, gave the Hufflepuffs detention. I thought he was going to give me one, too, but he just looked at me where I was lying on the floor. Told me I needed to take a shower, the slimy git."

And then, for the first time, Ron was crying. Not loud, just little hiccupping tears that rolled down his cheeks, and Harry reached out for him again, being so gentle this time, making sure not to hurt at all. "Sorry," Ron said, after a minute passed, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Ron," Harry said again.

"Don't tell anyone," Ron said.

Harry looked at the bruises, the cuts, "I don't know enough magic to conceal all of this, Ron. People are going to know in the morning."

"It happened at Quidditch practice," Ron said, "We stayed after Fred and George left. You said you were going to fly some more. I'll just say I lost control. Crashed after practice."

"Malfoy will have a field day with that," Harry said, darkly, "And what about Dean? He saw us after practice."

Ron didn't have a solution for that. He stared out the window. It was getting cold enough now that there was frost on it. "Maybe Dean should know," he shook his head, "But not a word to Hermione. I don't want her thinking I came off so bad in a fight."

Harry promised, reluctantly. He didn't go back to his bed that night. He stayed with Ron, cleaning up where he could, holding him when the silent tears started again. He couldn't help but think that Hermione wouldn't think Ron weak if he told the whole story. He couldn't help but think that even the twins would be on Ron's side, if Ron would just say that he'd defended Harry, that he'd stood up for his friend and been hurt for it.

And Harry thought, after Ron finally fell to sleep on his shoulder, that Ron might do this again. He might stand up to one of Harry's enemies, loyal to the end, and he might be hurt worse than bruises and cuts. He might be tortured. He might be killed.

And, at fifteen years old, Harry couldn't think of a single way to stop it.

**.***.**

**ron's always been our favorite, and we think he was loyal to a fault for harry, and his loyalty often went unnoticed, maybe even unmentioned in the books. this one take place during OotP, of course, but there might have been others. who knows? we like expanding one-shots.**

**happy (late) Thanksgiving, to all the American readers out there, and happy holiday season to everyone else. as most of you know, reviews are the best kinds of presents. peace, everyone. **

**us**


	2. Percy

**_"He went completely berserk. He said - well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been - you know - not had a lot of money, I mean -__" Ron Weasley, OotP_**

**.***.**

Ron could only watch, open-mouthed, as Percy and his father stood off in the kitchen. Percy had a bag over his shoulder and his wand in his hand, though it was lax by his side. "I can get a place on my own," Percy said, speaking over their father's head to mum, who was standing in the back of the kitchen. A shattered glass was on the floor at her feet, but she hadn't made any moves to clean it up. "If it's between living here and my job-"

"They're using you," Dad said, quietly, and Ron marveled again at how his father could be so quiet when everyone else in the family had that old red-head temper, "Percy, son, you have to realize that they're just using you to spy on this family."

"Spy?" Percy laughed, a grating sound, and Ron felt Fred tense beside him. So far, the brothers had kept out of the argument But now it was looking like Percy would actually walk out. Could you do that? Did people actually walk out on their family? "Why would anyone want to spy on this?" He waved a hand at the Burrow, encompassing the cracked sink and the dented table, the crooked windows and sloping floor. "We have nothing, dad."

Fred started to stand up but George grabbed the back of his shirt, "Not yet," George hissed. Both twins had their wands out, identical white bark that they both clutched tightly.

Mum started forward, finally, "there's a lot more to being valuable than having possessions, Percy. I thought you knew that. Galleons aren't everything."

"You know what they say about us at the Ministry, Dad?" Percy turned away from his mother as if he hadn't heard her, "They're saying you have more kids than you can afford, and it's because you're off your rocker with the muggle stuff. I've been fighting against your reputation every since I joined the Ministry." He hoisted the bag further up on his shoulder, "And I'm done now. I'm taking the job with Fudge. And I'm moving out."

Ron remembered when Bill and Charlie moved out. It hadn't been anything like this. There had been parties, and both of his brothers had asked Dad for advice, and he'd told them to be hard-working and kind. He'd told them not to be strangers. And Bill and Charlie had ruffled Ron's hair-he'd been young, it was before Hogwarts-and they wrote him letters sometimes and came back for holidays and weren't strangers.

But Percy was a different entity entirely. He'd been a stranger in the family since they were little. More ambitious, he'd always hated their tiny house, hated sharing a room with Ron so much that Ron moved up to the attic as soon as Charlie left. Maybe it was because Percy had always been hungry for power. Maybe it was something as stupid as being stuck between Bill and Charlie, who had always been good friends, and the twins, who were inseparable, of course. There was no one for Percy to turn to.

Not that it was an excuse. Not that Ron could watch this fight with anything other than fury on behalf of his father. He'd never liked being poor either-none of them did. But their parents had done the best with what they had, and they'd kept seven kids in school and clothed and well-fed, and they'd encouraged their ambitions and camaraderie, and what more did they need, really?

Mum was crying, and Ginny, who'd been lingering next to the staircase, put an arm around her. "If you're going to leave," Ginny said, her voice-her whole body-quivering with anger, "Then get out of here Percy. We don't need you."

"No," Mum said, "Percy, don't leave like this. Please. Listen to your father."

All eyes were on Dad, and he splayed out his hands, a helpless gesture. "Anything that I have to tell you, you've been told. You cannot trust Fudge, especially with this campaign against Dumbledore."

"You can't honestly believe You-Know-Who is back?" Percy said, sounding genuinely surprised, "Dad, the Ministry would inform us if such a danger had returned. But You-Know-Who is long dead. Are you really going to believe an old crackpot-"

Ron stood up, "What about Harry?" He said, and felt Fred and George stand up beside him. "Harry saw him come back."

"The word of a fourteen-year-old boy over that of the entire government," Percy scoffed, "Ron, I thought better of you."

George caught Ron's arm before he could launch himself at Percy and his condescending smile. "Cedric Diggory died, Perce," George said, "How do you think that happened if it wasn't You-Know-Who?"

"The TriWizard is a dangerous tournament," Percy said, waving his hand, "It was cancelled for so long precisely because students died. Not that it wasn't tragic-"

Now it was Fred's turn to start forward, "he was your friend, Percy!"

Cedric had lived on the other side of the village, and when the wizarding families in the area got together Cedric and Percy would be paired up. Both wanna-be leaders, their large personalities managed to balance each other out. Ron remembered one barbecue where Cedric and Percy had spent most of the day devising a plan to get back at the twins for pranking them. It was the only time Ron could remember Percy laughing so hard he fell to the floor with the force of his happiness.

Percy was backing towards the door, and Ron couldn't believe it, couldn't believe he was actually leaving like this. "You're putting your faith in the wrong people," Percy said, looking at Dad, "And it will hurt you."

"No," Dad said, "It will hurt _you_."

"I trust the Ministry," Percy said, "And I'm going to do anything I can to help them."

"Percy," Mum said. She'd stopped crying, thank god, "There will always be a room for you here. This is still your home."

For a minute, Percy stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Then he shook his head, flinging the door open, "I don't know if I ever felt at home here, mum." And then he was out the door.

Ron stared after him for a moment. He'd never liked Percy, hadn't understood his older brother's obsession with rules and grades, his inability to take a joke, his hatred of their social status. But he couldn't help but remember Percy, shutting himself in his room and sobbing when Ginny was taken down tot he Chamber of Secrets, or Percy hugging him before sending him back to bed the night Sirius had slashed his curtains in third year, or when Percy had splashed out to him during the Second Task last year and had dragged him back to shore, fretting over him to make sure, make quite sure he was all right.

And before he knew it he was out the door too, and going after his brother. "Percy!" he called, hoping he hadn't apparated away yet. But no, there he was at the end of the walk, and he paused when Ron shouted. Ron ran the last few steps to skid to a halt in front of him. And then Percy was looking at him, and Ron didn't have anything to say except, "Don't go."

Percy looked at him, then reached out a hand and ruffled Ron's hair, like Bill had done before he'd left, like Charlie. "I'm going to worry about you the most, Ron. You always seem to be in the thick of trouble."

"I'm fine," Ron said, trying not to think about the amount of times he'd ended up in the hospital wing over the last four years.

"It's hanging out with Potter," Percy said, and Ron stared at him. None of his brothers called Harry by his last name any more. They were closer than that. "He's not right in the head, Ron. There's just no way You-Know-Who can be back."

"Harry's not crazy," Ron said.

"Oh, Ron," Percy actually did look distraught, "That loyalty is going to get you killed. You can't just blindly follow fame."

"Harry's not my mate because he'd famous," Ron said. "You know him, Percy. You know he doesn't want all the attention he gets. And you know he's right about this. You-Know-Who is back, and if you ignore that...if you don't prepare for it..."

Percy put a hand on his shoulder, "Harry Potter has never been stable. He drags you into danger year after year. It's not healthy, Ron. By saying You-Know-Who is back, Potter was at the center of attention again. That's all he wants. He doesn't care who he drags down with him."

Ron shook his head, "At least he sticks by the truth. Harry is worth then of you, Percy."

"Harry Potter will get you killed one day," Percy said, "Let's just hope he manages to kill himself first."

And that's when Ron took a swing at his older brother.

.***.

The first night at Grimwald Place, Harry needed a little while to get all the yelling out of his system, but after he did, and after Ginny and Hermione slinked out of the room, intent on helping Mrs. Weasley with dinner, Harry finally calmed down enough to take a better look at Ron's face. There was a bruise around his eye that looked new, and nasty. "How'd you get that, Ron?" He asked, gesturing at his friend's face.

He didn't know what he was expecting-a fight with the twins, maybe, or a tumble down the stairs. He wasn't expecting Fred and George, who were on their way out of the room, to turn back around, anger flashing across their normally jovial faces. He wasn't expecting Ron to suddenly find the dark painting on the other side of the room intensely interesting.

"It was Percy," George said, coming back into the room and closing the door behind him and Fred.

"Percy?" Harry gaped, "He took a swing at you?" He couldn't imagine Percy taking a swing at any one. Of all the Weasley children, Percy seemed the least physical.

Fred went to stand next to Ron, and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's a hex. We haven't been able to find a remedy yet."

"It won't budge for any of mum's usual spells." George put in standing on Ron's other side. Ron still wouldn't look at Harry.

Harry couldn't imagine any of the Weasleys hexing each other. They all seemed so close. He couldn't even imagine Percy stooping to a level where he'd hurt one of his brothers, least of all Ron. He felt a surge of anger again-he couldn't seem to stop the anger anymore-and tried to push it back down. This was about Ron. "What happened?" He asked, "Did you get him back?"

"Couldn't use magic, could he?" Fred said, "Not underage, outside of school."

"You know that, Harry," George said, grinning, as if Harry's upcoming hearing was something to laugh about.

Ron finally raised his eyes to meet Harry's, "Don't worry. I threw the first punch."

"But why?" Harry asked. Ron wasn't known for controlling his temper, but he thought that for him to throw the first punch in a fight with one of his brothers, a real fight, there had to have been a good reason. "Because he left?'

Ron was quiet again, and George nudged him, "Go on," he said, "Tell him. Or we will."

"I wouldn't have punched him if he'd just left," Ron said, quietly, "But he was...well, he was saying things about you."

Harry gaped at him, "You punched Percy because of me?" He shook his head, "Apparently, everyone thinks I'm crazy Ron. You shouldn't mess up your relationship with your brother because of that."

"He did say you were crazy," Ron said, "But I only punched him when he said that if I kept...you know. Palling around with you...that I would end up dead. And he just hoped you'd die first."

Harry's eyes widened, and Fred nodded, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him, "We were watching from the doorway. Saw Ron throw a punch right in Percy's stupid face. Broke his glasses. We were halfway down the walk when Perce hexed him."

"Never thought he'd pull a wand on Ron," George said, "But it was a good hex. Threw Ron in the air. You should have seen his other bruises."

"Luckily, we're of age now," Fred said, grinning wickedly. "And we know more interesting hexes than Percy."

Harry wasn't listening. He was looking at Ron. "You shouldn't get into fights because of me," he said, and he didn't know why he felt like this-hopeless, and angry, and afraid. "I'm not worth it, Ron."

The twins shook their heads, opening their mouths, but Ron got their first. He rolled his eyes. "Harry, I'll tell you the same thing I told Percy. You're worth ten of him." He rubbed the bruise on his eye, wincing, and then moved towards the door. "I'll just go help with dinner then. I'm starving."

Harry watched him go. There was a bruise on the back of his neck, too, black and painful-looking.

Fred and George moved up to Harry's side. "Didn't know ickle Ronnikins had it in him to punch someone like he got Perce," Fred said, "You should have seen it. Broken nose. It was great."

"But Harry," George said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, "You know...you know that Ron will follow you anywhere. And the places you're going...they're not the safest."

"And we believe you," Fred said quickly, "There's another war coming. Just...Harry, don't get our brother killed."

**.***.**

**a more dramatic exit for percy, but it could conceivably happen, right? and harry has to know that ron will follow him into any battle. and he had to have thought about the fact that he might get his best friend killed.**

**anyway, hope any ron fans out there like it. god knows we love our weasleys. and remember that reviews are better than presents for the holidays.**

**peace,**

**us**


	3. Umbridge

**_"Approval for Whipping...Approval for Whipping...I can do it at last...They've had it coming to them for years...__" Argus Filch, OotP_**

**.***.**

Hermione tilted her head so she could look at Harry's watch again, and she sighed loudly. Again. "Where is he? Detention shouldn't have lasted longer than curfew...it's nearly one!"

"I'm sure he's on his way," Harry said, but his leg was bouncing up and down. He hadn't been able to concentrate on his Transfiguration essay since midnight came and went without sign of Ron. "But maybe I should go find him." He stood up. Hermione did too.

"I'll come with you!"

"I'm taking the cloak," Harry said, gently, "And if we find Ron you know it won't fit over all three of us. Not anymore."

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue with this but couldn't think of a rebuttal. "It's only because you two got so tall," she finally said, annoyed. Harry and Ron had been growing steadily since the end of third year, while Hermione had grown fast when they'd first entered Hogwarts and had remained just above five feet for over a year now. "Be careful, all right?"

"We're always careful, 'Mione. It's only a couple of floors to Umbridge's office, anyway."

Hermione frowned, "He's not in her office. Malfoy found us just before dinner with a note to meet Umbridge in the dungeons. Ron was relieved, actually. He's not fond of that quill, and we figured he wouldn't be doing lines down there."

Harry tugged his sleeve over the words on his hand. Ron had shown up two months ago with similar cuts and had tried to hide them from Harry, and when Harry finally grabbed his hand and turned it over he saw the raw outlines of _I am a blind follower_. "That bitch," Harry had said, because Ron had pulled away quickly and was rubbing his hand, not looking at Harry. "Ask Hermione for the Murtlap. Maybe it'll come off." But Ron hadn't, because he was ashamed enough of the cuts without Hermione seeing, and he'd just served out his detentions and bandaged the scars as best he could._  
_

"Here," Hermione said as Harry went to climb out the portrait hole, and she handed him a big jar and a tiny bottle. "Murtlap," Hermione said, pointing at the jar, "And essence of Dittany. It's a powerful healing potion. I kept some after we made it for Snape a month ago."

"I don't think I'll need it," Harry said, and they both knew he meant _I hope I don't need it_. "But thanks. You don't have to wait up."

"I will," Hermione said firmly, "And if I fall asleep, you'd better poke me, Harry Potter. I mean it."

.***.

Umbridge had been on the warpath since Fred and George's spectacular exit, and she was taking it out on Ron. Which Ron was okay with, really, as long as she didn't touch Ginny. But Ron was a better target. He was a convenient way to vent both Weasley twin and Harry Potter anger. Why'd he always have to be the sidekick?

So he'd been getting poor marks in DADA since the twins left, which was fine, really, because he hadn't been doing all that well to begin with. Hermione was irate on his behalf, which was enough for Ron. And then it was being called to stay after class so Umbridge could slip in snide comments about his family, probably hoping he'd launch himself at her like Fred and Harry had done at Malfoy during the Quidditch match. But Harry and Hermione were just outside the door, with Extendable Ears, and knowing they were listening meant that he could keep his temper in check until he left the room.

"What a horrible witch!" Hermione would say, shaking with fury, and Harry would put an arm around Ron's shoulders and that was enough, really, especially since he'd finally heard that the twins were getting themselves set up in Diagon Alley (they didn't write him, of course not, they'd written Lee Jordan, and Lee had let Ron read it while Lee composed a Howler in response. Apparently he was supposed to exit with the twins, and was now joining them over the summer so he could continue to fight Umbridge with the remaining firecrackers and a small supply of Nifflers.)

But then being told to stay after class turned into a week of detention, where Umbridge had debated for ten minutes between making him write _Harry Potter is a liar _and _I am a blind follower_. Ron had finally let some of his famous temper show and said, heatedly, that if Umbridge made him carve anything negative about Harry onto his body he'd go to McGonagal, to Dumbledore, to the Ministry if he had to, and she'd relented and let him write the other line.

This detention was different. He'd been caught fighting the same two big Hufflepuffs who'd jumped him after his row with Seamus in the Fall. Most everyone had come round to Harry's side after the Quibbler article, but these two had grief and righteousness on their side, and seemed to think picking on Ron was a lot more fun than picking on Harry himself. They'd jumped him in a back hallway he'd ducked into between running to the bathroom and meeting back up with the rest of the class in Charms, and Ron had pulled out his wand first. Ginny had taught him her Bat-Bogey Hex, and he aimed it at the bigger one while the smaller went Muggle on him and boxed his ears so hard they started dribbling blood.

Umbridge had caught them, of course she had, and she'd told the Hufflepuffs that she would talk to Professor Sprout about them and make sure she dolled out the appropriate punishment, and when she turned on Ron she'd smiled that sickly-sweet smile that made her toad face look like she'd just spotted the juiciest fly. "You get another week of detention with me, Weasley."

"Can't I just go to McGonagal, too?" Ron said, and then closed his mouth before it sounded too much like a whine but _damn_ he'd just started being able to fit his cut hand into his Keeper's gloves again.

"Repeat offenders can be punished according to what the High Inquisitor deems fit," Umbridge said, "I'll see you at eight tonight, Weasley."

And then Malfoy, the slimy git, told him to go to the dungeons, and he'd thought he'd be scraping cauldrons. He should have known better.

Ron fell asleep and came to several times after the detention was finally over. They'd left him bleeding on the cold stone floor, and the only thing he could think every time he awoke was that it would be Snape who found him in the morning, and he didn't want the greasy Potions Master to say anything about his current state. He couldn't even think about getting himself up to the hospital wing. He hadn't been able to move his legs since it started, and a small, scared part of his brain thought that he might be paralyzed.

He sank back into unconsciousness, filled with strange, hazy visions of all the horrors he'd faced-being told Ginny had been dragged into the Chamber, being pulled into the Whomping Willow by Padfoot, facing the Dementor on the train, watching Harry come back at the edge of the maze and being quite sure he was dead...

"Ron? Ron! What did they do to you?"

That wasn't Snape's voice.

Ron opened his eyes-it was hard, he'd cried through part of the detention and the moisture had dried on his lids-and was able to make out the glint of glasses. "Hry," he said, and then coughed and then screamed as the cough jerked him forward and ripped open his back once again.

Hands were on his arms, and Harry was holding him, "Steady on, mate, shh. Stop moving. There we go. Oh Ron. What happened? What happened?"

Ron was just happy that Harry's arms were warm. He'd been told to strip to the waist at the beginning of the evening and hadn't even realize how cold he was until Harry drew his warm cloak part way around them. "It's not bad," Ron gasped, "Just...need some help...getting up."

"They left you here?" Harry said, "Why?"

"Part of the punishment, I 'spect," Ron said, and he shrugged, which was such a bad idea. The pain flared back to life, a hot, white light that took up all his vision and robbed him of his breath. He must have blacked out again, because next he knew he was looking up and Harry was looking at him, panicked.

"Ron? You back with me? I tried to heal the cuts, but I don't know...they kept bleeding. Hermione said this would help. Can you open your mouth for me?"

Ron did, and Harry dribbled a capfull of something thick and minty into his mouth, talking as he did, "I almost let Hermione come with me, too. Then she could run for Madame Pomfrey. But I don't want to leave you. We'll have to figure something else out."

The potion was doing something wonderful, and the burning was gone, replaced with a numb throbbing that was wonderful in the wake of hours of maddening pain. "I'm glad Hermione didn't come," Ron said ruefully, "Would want her to see me blubbering like this." Because he was crying, again. He didn't think he had any more tears in him, not after that fantastic display in front of Umbridge and Filch (_not such a brave little lion now, are we? My my, if your precious Boy Who Lied could see you now.)_

"Blubber away," Harry said. He was doing something behind Ron, was running his hands over those cuts, spreading something buttery on them that made even the throbbing stop. Harry poked too hard once, and Ron arched his back and hissed. He instantly regretted his reaction though. Harry's hands were gone, Harry was gone, and suddenly the need for human contact that wasn't trying to take a chunk out of his skin was immediate and overwhelming.

"Sorry," Harry was saying somewhere behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Damn that bitch. She hurt you bad, Ron, you can't even see it."

"Oh don't worry, it feels bad enough," Ron said. "Buck up there, Harry, you didn't hurt me that bad."

And then the soothing hands were back, and the cream went on thick and soothing, and they were quiet together. Harry was still too angry to speak-he was afraid he'd shout, and that shout would bring Snape or, worse, Umbridge. "She whip you?" He finally said after five minutes of listening to Ron breathe.

"Nah. Nothing so direct," Ron almost laughed, then remembered how much coughing hurt and restrained himself. "She had Filch whip me. Can't imagine what he would have done to Fred and George. Woulda skinned 'em alive if he had the chance."

"Nearly skinned _you_."

"It's not that bad, Harry, I told you."

"What'd she get you for, anyway?" Harry asked, "It wasn't just because of the twins again?"

If he were in a better state, Ron would have made something up, but his brain felt slow and muddled, having swung so quickly between burning pain and the numb relief Harry doled out to him. So he just said, "It was those Hufflepuffs again."

"Diggory's friends? What'd they do?"

"Jumped me in the back hallway, didn't they?" Ron said, feeling frustration and anger come up for the first time. He'd kept his temper in check long enough. Even when Filch was having a go at him and Umbridge was insulting his family as it went on (_blood traitors are nearly as bad as half-breeds, I'm telling you. And your dear mother from such good stock! Too bad there are so many of you, I mean really, why can't the true pure bloods pump out as many as she does?) _He'd lashed out once and that had earned him more lashes. So he'd kept his mouth shut. Then. But now...now, when he was faced with Harry, the only one who really hadn't done anything wrong, of course it would all spill over at the wrong moment.

He tried to move his feet again and they wouldn't budge, and he felt like screaming so instead he just hissed, "Two big Quidditch players and they decide to wait in the corners for me. Got 'em with Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex. That thing's a life saver, really. But these two blokes just can't get over it. You coming back and their mate being dead. Like I have anything to do with it."

"You're right," Harry said, quietly, "You shouldn't have to take that. It's me everyone wants. You need to stop stick up for me. When did you become so noble anyway?"

"About the same time you became unpopular," Ron said, and the words tumbled out so readily he just knew that some part of his brain had been mulling over why now, why this year of all years he was getting into scuffles about the great Boy Who Lived.

"You've been doing it forever," Harry said, moving back around Ron's front. He was still shivering, but Harry cast Hermione's neat little heating charm and kneeled in front of him. "Really, Ron. I don't know what you see in me."

"Belt up, will you?" Ron said, turning red, "Making me sound like a damn damsel in distress. I don't exactly shy away from fights."

"But with Seamus and all them in the Fall...with your own _brother." _Harry got up and walked over to something concealed in shadows against the wall. He came back with that damn whip, and set it on the floor a safe distance from Ron, and blasted it to pieces. "I can't stand seeing you get hurt, mate," Harry said. Not looking at Ron, of course. He was looking at the thing he'd just blown to smithereens. "So...stop."

"Sod off, Potter, you know you're stuck with me," Ron said, trying to sound casual. "Nothing you can do about it, really. Weasleys are made to be loyal."

Harry snorted, "To a fault, you know. She hurt you so _bad_, Ron. Maybe we should go to McGonagall."

"She can't do anything," Ron said, "Umbridge was very clear on that. She had a new decree, remember? Approval for Whipping."

"This is barbaric," Harry said, and his wand hand was shaking. "At least to the Hospital Wing. You're not nearly mended. Can you stand."

Ron tried moving his feet again, looking at his trainers hopefully. Not even a wiggle. He felt those bloody tears dripping down his cheeks again, "Harry, I think we have a problem."

Harry looked where Ron was looking, and then he was on the floor again, one arm looping around Ron's neck. "You know what's really great about the Wizarding World, Ron? You don't really appreciate it, but I was a Muggle for a decade you know. But there's really nothing magic can't fix."

Ron relaxed in his arms, and they stayed like that for another ten seconds until Hermione burst in, having cast a tricky little Disillusionment charm on her. She had the Maurader's Map clutched in one hand, too, and told them the coast was clear, and told Harry that he absolutely should not find Umbridge in her rooms and strangle her. Together they got Ron up to the Hospital Wing, and let Madame Pomfrey call in McGonagall, who was so livid she marched right down to Umbridge's rooms and demanded an explanation. And Madame Pomfrey healed Ron's spinal cord and his whip marks and Hermione and Harry did their best to fix his drawn paleness that came from being taunted and threatened and left in the dark all night.

And Harry knew, as he watched Ron fall to sleep somewhere around dawn, that though he'd told his best friend that there was nothing magic couldn't fix, there were some things magic couldn't buy, and he'd never know what he'd done to earn such fervent loyalty. "I couldn't possibly be worth all this, you great git," Harry said, smoothing back Ron's too-long red hair before and and Hermione were shooed out of the Hospital Wing.

**.***.**

**okay, so we're obsessed with writing loyal!ron. if anyone could point us in the direction of similar ron fics, that would be amazing.**

**what do you guys think? continue? any scenes you want to see? we're just flipping through the books for any place where ron can do something bad-ass, but as you can see we end up with a lot of order of the phoenix stuff. so help us out. or just tell us you loved it/hated it/whatever.**

**wishing you all health and happiness this holiday season!**

**us**


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